The Tale Of A Nameless Witcher
by Grizlucks
Summary: Hello folks, my name is Grizlucks. I won't be promising regular updates, since I suck at that, but I do have 19 pages written. So, here's my story, The Tale Of A Nameless Witcher, which is just that, a story with a completely regular Witcher. He won't be tangling with politics, no hot sorceresses, although there will be, hopefully, interesting side characters. Hope you like it.
1. Chapter 1

It was a sunny day, in the muddy village of Yarrowton, when the Witcher first appeared. He was on his horse trotting along as men and women stopped to stare at him, or more accurately stare him down, hoping that his visit there would be short. The Witcher snorted. How typical. Even when there was work to be had he was still receiving stares of anger and hatred. He ignored them, and continued to trot along the path that ran through the village looking for the ealdorman. He singled out a man with a straight back, and a dry, grey, beard that touched his waist. This would be him. As the Witcher turned his horse towards him he was suddenly stopped in his tracks by two men. Wielding hoes, they looked as if they had just come from working the fields.

"What's your business here, Witcher?" The man on the right spoke first, his hatred evident in his voice.

"We don't need your kind here." The taller and stronger man told the Witcher with a deep voice.

The Witcher seethed inwardly in anger. He had come all this way, just to be yelled at by peasants, who for some reason thought they were above him, even though both physically and mentally he was the stronger? How annoying. But he needed to get payed, so he merley gave them a glare, which proved to be enough to get them out of his way. No backbone at all. He dismounted and lead his horse behind him, as he continued his path towards the ealdorman, who looked on apprehensively, dreading the confrontation.

"You the ealdorman?" The Witcher had spoken for the first time since he had entered the village. His voice wasn't a memorable one, but his face certainly was. It had three, equally long, scars that ran diagonally across it, starting from the left of his forehead, and ending at his right cheek. He also had another scar, that ran down the length of his nose, starting at the center of his forehead. His left temple had a small indent, obviously from a blunt force wound. His throat had one as well, that almost went full circle around it, as if someone had tried to cut his throat and failed.

He wore a studded, black, leather vest on a white shirt, as well as black leather trousers, with steel, studded, knee caps. His gloves were a simple black leather, and fingerless, and his boots were black with heel spikes. He carried two swords, both slung across his back, side by side. One was a thin, lithe blade with a gold-painted metal sheath that demonstrated its value. The other was a larger, almost crude, sword that was wrapped in simple leather.

The ealdorman gathered his senses and quickly responded.

"That's me. I suppose you're here about the contract?"

"Yeah. How much will you pay me for this job?"

The ealdorman gulped. He could only hope for pity from the Witcher as what he had wasn't enough.

"80 crowns."

The Witcher shook his head.

"Too little, way too little. How about you try again?"

"100 crowns."

"I want 150." It was a statement, but much could be read into it. One thing that made itself clear, was that the Witcher wasn't willing to negotiate. But the ealdorman had to try anyways.

"That would cut into our emergency fund!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must be in the wrong town: Isn't this an emergency?"

The ealdorman clenched his teeth. It was this way or the highway: If he didn't accept this offer he would have to wait until the next Witcher came along, which would be a while. He sighed, looked around, and in a quiet voice, said "fine". The town went into an uproar, and the Witcher quickly reached for his steel sword. The villagers went quiet.

"I need some details. Where and when did this monster attack?"

"I don't know all the details but what I can tell you is this. My wife was out visiting her brother in the nearby town. She went two weeks ago. But she hasn't come back yet. I need you to find her, please!"

The Witcher heard the ealdorman's pleas with an impassive face. This wasn't the first time that he had been begged to save someone. They typically begged due to feeling guilty. That being said, he couldn't deliver any promises.

"Is this the first one to go missing?" He questioned the ealdorman sternly. Everyone in the village glared at him due to his lack of respect. The ealdorman looked away.

"Nay sir. My wife went missing third. Before her it was Fiona, and first it was Thaddeus."

The Witcher stared at him with his cat eyes, and the ealdorman shifted uncomfortably.

"What can you tell me about them?"

"My wife, was just as much a leader as I. She had long brown hair, and the most gentle eyes you'll ever see. She went missing 4 days ago. Fiona was a sweet girl of 16 summers. She had blonde hair and blue was kind to everyone in the village, and cared for every living being. However, she had a boyfriend named Aaron. We just assumed she ran away with him. He wasn't the best of influences on the lass. Thaddeus, on the other hand, was a loner. He had long unkempt hair, and stunk like a pig. He lived alone on the outskirts of the village, and well-"

The ealdorman glanced at the surrounding people.

"-no-one really cared about him. When he went missing we assumed that he had decided to move on to another village to start a new life. "

The Witcher nodded slowly.

"I see. Well, can you point me in the direction your wife would've gone?"

The ealdorman motioned towards the forest bordering the town.

"Although I warned her not to, she probably took the shortcut. I thought it was dangerous, what with wolves, ghouls and nekkers prowling the woods. I want to see the monster's head, so I can tell the townsfolk what to be wary of."

The Witcher first tied his horse up, on a nearby pole. Then he turned towards the assembled villagers and motioned towards his sword.

"If anyone so much as looks at her, they're dead."

He then walked off in the direction of the woods.

* * *

Once he arrived he took a moment to smell the air, for the scent of blood. Absolutely nothing. Using his Witcher senses he began to examine the trodden path through the woods. As he walked along the trail, he noticed footprints leading off into the woods. He began to follow them when suddenly he felt something wet splash onto his face. He traced his fingers along his face touching the liquid. A dark red. Blood. He looked to up, only to be greeted by the unseeing eyes of a young girl. She was hanging there from her ankles, naked as the day she was born. Her hair was blonde, and she had blue eyes. He pulled her down, and incinerated her corpse. A thorough job was always required.

"I guess I found the girl. This scene hints at territorial instincts if it's a monster" He thought to himself. Then he closed his eyes and began to follow his nose.

It lead him to a cave. He opened his eyes, and proceeded to look around. Splotches of blood decorated the place, like Yuletide decorations. He also saw another body lying in a pool of blood in the middle of the room. Another woman. The ealdorman's wife, most likely. He walked up to the corpse, and turned it over. Yup. He began to examine the body.

"There seems to be an indent in the back of her head" The Witcher thought. "Obviously meant to knock her out. This also means that a human was behind this."

He moved to examine her neck. A long, deep, dark red line was etched into her neck, length wise. Her throat had been slit. The Witcher traced the line across his own neck. The Witcher considered examining her genitalia, and then decided to do so. If he was right, this corpse was the product of a rape-murder. He began to examine her thighs first. There were finger-tip sized bruises leading up to her vaginal area. The Witcher stopped his examination. He had seen all he needed to.

"Another human was very clearly behind the murder of the girl and the ealdorman's wife. If I'm right they've chosen this place as their hideout. I'm going to need some bait to lure out this killer. Otherwise they have no reason to show up. Something else to consider, is the fact that I haven't seen the corpse of the missing male. It was probably him."

So the Witcher journeyed back to Yarrowton, his hypothesis complete. He would need a woman to bring in the head of the rapist.

Once he arrived back at the village, he noticed everyone pointedly looking away from his horse, Gale. Next to her stood the ealdorman. He walked over to the ealdorman at a leisurely pace.

"I've found your "monster"." The Witcher monotoned.

"What was it? A nekker, a ghoul, maybe a pack of wolves? What happened to my wife?" The ealdorman was clearly eager to get the problem out of the way and allay his townspeople.

"Your "monster" was a human. If I were to guess who it was, it would be Thaddeus." The Witcher said.

"So I guess that means my wife is alive? Thaddeus was no monster, after all. I'm sure this was just a kidnapping, right?"

The Witcher almost chuckled. The ealdorman didn't know how wrong he was.

"Your wife was raped and then killed, as was Fiona." The Witcher said, a grimace on his face.

The ealdorman paled. He began to tremble, and the townspeople noticing this began to make their way over. However the Witcher raised a hand, and they stopped in their tracks.

In a sombre tone, the ealdorman asked the question, that the Witcher needed to hear.

"What do you need to bring him in?"

The Witcher smiled. This was always the case, when a human was behind it. Always so angry with the world, willing to do whatever it took to take revenge. He could literally ask for 100 crowns more, and the ealdorman wouldn't blink an eye.

"I need a young girl. I'll use her as bait to lure him out of his hiding spot."

The ealdorman clapped his hands and a young woman came out of a hut. Her hands shook, and she wore a fearful expression. Her eyes were a bright blue, and her hair was a golden blonde. She was beautiful. The Witcher examined her. She would do for the sake of the contract.

"Her name is Kate. She was Fiona's elder sister. She-"

The Witcher interrupted him.

"I don't care.

The ealdorman frowned at him.

"Well then what are you waiting for? Go get that murderer!"

* * *

The girl had been silent the whole walk to the forest. Whenever the Witcher turned back to face her, she would flinch away from him. And of course she was behaving like this: Everyone was scared of Withers. For all he knew, she must have been told that Witchers raped innocent girls for fun. He sighed, then turned around to face her.

"So here's the deal. You're going to walk down this path alone while I follow you from the woods. Eventually the rapist will show up, and I'll be able to hear him, smell him, and stop him before he reaches you."

The girl nodded her head, frightened, her face white as a bedsheet. Then she looked at the ground trying to avoid his piercing gaze. The Witcher took the chance and walked into the woods and began to stalk her silently, like a cat after prey. The girl looked up after a couple seconds, and noticed the absence of her companion.

"H-hello? Sir?"

The Witcher smirked in the forest. The noise would lure Thaddeus right into his arms. THe Witcher closed his eyes, sat down and attuned himself to his surroundings. He heard the call of an owl, the buzzing of some bees, and the growl of a pack of wolves. None concerned him. Suddenly he heard a branch break, approximately 30 metres away from him. Only a human could make that noise. So he turned and waited for said human to get closer. A scuffling sound, 20 metres away. A crunch of leaves underneath a foot, 15 metres away. The Witcher drew his sword. 10 metres away. The Witcher opened his eyes. A man, clearly visible, walked towards the girl, slowly, and rather silently for a human.

The Witcher got up silently from his seated stance, and moved silently towards the man. Once in range, he cast the Axii sign, to nullify his chance of fighting back. He then ran towards the stunned man, and examined his face. It wasn't anyone he had seen before. That meant it was the rapist, Thaddeus. He knocked him out with the hilt of his sword. Then he walked out of the forest. The girl noticed him, and let out a squeal at the body he carried on his shoulders. The Witcher rolled his eyes.

"Let's get back to the village. This job's done."

* * *

As the Witcher arrived at the village with Thaddeus, he saw the ealdorman waiting for was pacing back and forth, stroking his beard. He seemed to have recovered. The Witcher marched up to him, and threw Thaddeus on the ground.

"Job's done"

The ealdorman frowned, then threw the Witcher a bag of coins. Typical. Now that the dirty work was done, the Witcher was essentially being shown out of the village. No thanks, no gratitude, no "You're welcome back anytime!", because the only time that would ever happen is if he did a job for free. He began to leave.

"And Witcher? Don't ever come back."

The Witcher continued to walk towards his untouched horse. He untied it, hopped on and in a matter of seconds, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

The Witcher stood in front of a Temerian quartermaster. The quartermaster was no spring chicken, although he did have a full head of hair. His eyes were a dull brown, a stark contrast to the Witcher's piercing amber. He sat with a straight back, a contract on the table in front of him, and a quill and inkpot to the side. His face was wrinkled, and scarred on the cheek: A short gash, an injury made by a dagger, or poniard. Although he wasn't the typical Temerian, he did share one trait with the regular peasant: He was scared of the Witcher. It was the only explanation for why he leaned back in his chair, stammering as the Witcher stared into his eyes.

"50 crowns is not enough."

"S-ss-sir, it's all we can afford to p-pay you."

"Bullshit."

The Witcher leaned in further, and slammed his hands on the table. The quartermaster let out a yelp, and the Witcher inwardly smirked.

"W-we need to compensate the w-widows!"

"I don't fucking care about them. I want at least one hundred crowns, and your blacksmith will repair my armor, and do the same for my weapons as well as sharpen them."

"H-how about we add in a sword? Our captain was killed by this beast and we were able to recover his sword, as well as his armor."

The Witcher appeared to consider it, and then shook his head.

"I have a perfectly functional steel sword on by back. I don't need that sword. In fact, I'm tempted to show you just how functional my sword is if you don't pay me full price."

The quartermaster gulped.

"F-fine. You can take 100 crowns, as well as your armor and weapon repair and sharpening."

The Witcher took a step back, and the quartermaster breathed out for the first time. He then proceeded to fill out the form in front of him, and crossed out the 50, replacing it with a hundred.

"So tell me. Where did this monster attack?"

For the next five minutes the Witcher was told in detail about where the monster attacked, when it happened, and if there were any survivors. There were no survivors, the attack had happened at the foot of a nearby mountain, and it had occurred the last week. The sole casualty had been their captain, and the two men he had taken with him. The Witcher sighed.

* * *

He left the tent, and hopped onto Gale, his ever-faithful horse. Wasting no time he galloped off into woods. In the woods, he saw endregas and nekkers, but chose to ignore them. They weren't his contract. Any Witcher that slew random monsters, was merely taking away future work, or even worse, taking another Witcher's contract. So the Witcher continued to ride into the woods. Eventually he began to smell blood. It was faint, but definitely present. He followed it and eventually arrived at a nest.

Ghouls. He saw four of them huddled around the nest feasting on the remnants of a carcass, dressed in blue. A little away from them was a shield, with the typical Temerian insignia: The lilies. Due to the fact that there were no other, larger prints, the corpse and the blame for it's death, lay with them.

The Witcher drew his silver, and moved silently up to the ghouls. He approached the one closest to him and in one fell blow, removed it's head. While the others paused to realise that something was amiss, the Witcher's sword was already in motion. He cut another ghoul in half , and the last two dodged out of his swords path. He cursed, and got into his stance. Feet shoulder width apart, and evenly balanced, crouched to keep his center of gravity low, chest twisted right, away from the ghouls, and sword held approximately 30 centimeters away from his body, point tipped down to face the ghouls. The ghouls, being monsters, made the first move. They pounced at him. The Witcher ready for this sidestepped to the left, and held out his sword, letting one ghoul impale itself. Then he spun around, simultaneously throwing the ghoul's corpse off the blade. He came face to face with the second ghoul's claws, and only prior experience saved him from getting another scar. He ducked and thrust upwards, impaling the ghoul in the stomach. He threw the ghoul off his blade, and sheathed his sword. It was going to get repaired soon anyways. He then stalked over to the nest, picked up the shield, and signed Igni, watching the nest burst into flames. He stacked up the ghouls, and threw them into the fire.

Then he sat down on a rock and thought. There was no way he was going to get 100 crowns for four ghouls. They only went for 10 crowns a piece. Luckily, he had something prepared for moments like this. He whistled, and Gale trotted over, He reached into her saddlebags, and pulled out a Leshen's head. This was his insurance policy. Leshen's were dangerous and mean, and the perfect reason for the death of two guards and a captain. This wouldn't be the first time he fabricated a story. However, he typically didn't, only stooping that low when there weren't any loose ends. The last contract had been tempting, but the girl would've squealed. If there was one thing the Witcher did not enjoy doing, it was ruining his pay.

However the Witcher had realised something. Serious monsters, that fit into the categories of Ogroids, Draconids, Relicts, Hybrids, Elementa, Cursed Ones and some more dangerous Specters and Insectoids, were being seen less and less. By him at least. Instead he saw some lesser Specters and Insectoids, as well as Necrophages and Beasts. In short, the man-made monsters were becoming more common while the ones created by the Conjuction, were dwindling or hiding. And to the Witcher this was a serious problem. In some decade's time, he would have no choice but to become a bounty hunter, hunting down humans instead of monsters. That wasn't to say that bounty hunters didn't pull in a fair bit of money. Far from it. Typically, bounty hunters lived rich, exuberant lifestyles. But to the Witcher, it would mean deviating from the path, and that was far more serious, after all, he had already deviated significantly.

And so he began the reminiscing. It was a habit for him now, to reminisce after a particularly boring contract. About times when he was a young Witcher, fresh out of the keep. About a simpler time. When men were far less civilized. When they couldn't give two shits about the treatment of their fellows, and when education was only bestowed upon the extremely wealthy, instead of scholarships. But the Witcher broke himself out of his stupor. There would be time enough to reflect after the contract was finished. Maybe in the company of a whore. He was moving closer to Oxenfurt, and if there was one thing civilization had done right, it was paying for the company of women.

He paused. How much money did he have? He reached into the pockets of his horse and pulled out his coin purse. 150 from the last contract, plus another 200 from the last winter, which he hadn't spent. Another 80 which he had gathered from the keep, during his winter, and another 100 from his current contract. 530 crowns. 1470 short. Why did he need the money? Well it was a simple answer. And one that many would not expect.

The Witcher was not a noble man. Nor was he a nobleman. He didn't have consorts, but he did have whores. Winters at the keep were extremely lonely. And on one of his frequent visits to an Oxenfurt brothel, the Madame had approached him with an offer he couldn't refuse.

* * *

The Witcher had just spent another 100 crowns for a night with his favourite whore: Sarah. She was the most beautiful woman in the entire brothel, with her luscious brown hair, her eyes made of lapis lazuli, the face of a goddess, with high cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, and most importantly, phenomenal dental hygiene. Not to mention a body that every customer wanted to ravish. As he was making his way out, he felt a hand grasp his right shoulder. Tensing, he turned around. It was the madame of the brothel. She smiled at him, and he stared at her. Her smile growing wider, she dragged him over to a table and made him sit down.

"So, you've been visiting this brothel a lot lately." She said, and it was a fact. Every winter before the Witcher left for the keep he would spend all of his remaining funds at the brothel, spending time with Sarah.

"In fact, I've noticed that this is a pattern. Every year, right before winter, you show up and spend 400-500 crowns on 5 nights with Sarah."

The Witcher raised an eyebrow. She had noticed? The madame laughed at his expression.

"I'm not blind. And you have been a constant customer at this brothel. So I want to make a deal with you. Business is dismal here during winter. We don't pull in much money. People prefer the warmth of their homes over the warmth of a whore. Who knew? So, why don't you pay me 2000 crowns, and I'll let you have the winter with Sarah. You can take her to your keep."

The Witcher was shocked, and ecstatic. He was about to take the deal, when he came to a stop. He didn't have enough money. In fact his total monetary balance at that point in time was a grand total of 25 crowns. He cursed.

"Don't have enough?"

"Yeah. Can you keep the deal open for me? Until next winter?"

"By all means, take your time. IIt's not like business ever changes here. But do hurry up, Sarah is only getting older after all."

The Witcher could not agree more.

Suddenly the Witcher heard a growl. He looked around and saw a lone wolf emerge into the clearing. The pack leader. The Witcher glanced it's way out of boredom, and used the Axii sign to send the wolf away. Then he got up. That was a sign of overstaying his welcome in the forest. He stretched out, and got on Gale. He galloped towards the camp.

* * *

As he arrived, he noticed the bustle of the camp. They were sharpening their swords eagerly, grinning and cracking jokes. Clearly a fight was on the horizon. There were approximately 19 people in the rest must have been gone on a raid, or a skirmish. Or….

The Witcher dismounted and led Gale behind him into the tent of the Quartermaster. When he entered he saw a man who wasn't the Quartermaster, standing at the ready, expecting his presence. The Witcher shook his head, and threw the head of the Leshen on the table.

"It was a Leshen. I'm going to need more money."

The man shook his head.

"Don't matter anymore. We've decided to, erm, withhold payment, for the time-being. You don't have a problem with that do you?"

The Witcher sighed.

"Figured as much."

And with that he signed Axii, and watched as the man stumbled around. He drew steel, walked up to him, and the man was decapitated.

Then he whirled around, in time to see a pike stab into his thigh. He cursed, and drew a bomb from his pouch. Covering his eyes, he threw it on the ground. An explosion went off, and suddenly people were shouting: They had been blinded by the effects of Samum. He quickly pulled his hand away from his face, stabbed through the heart of one man, cut through the jugular of another, and thrust through the abdomen of the last. Reaching into Gale's saddlebag, he pulled out a Swallow, and gulped it down, feeling the effects healing the artery the pike had cut through. Then he did some basic arithmetic. 19 men overall, 4 men had died in here, it meant that 15 were still outside. Reaching into Gale's saddlebags a second time, he retrieved a Dancing Star and a Dragon's Dream. Not wasting a second, he glanced outside, and saw the other 15 making their way towards the tent. He threw the Dancing Star at their feet, and ducked back inside the tent. Soon enough he heard an explosion, and smelled the charred flesh.

Running outside, he saw that there were only 12 men left, prancing around like marionettes trying to put out the fires. In quick succession he threw the Dragon's Dream. Another explosion, and more screams were heard. He quickly did another head count. Only 4 left. A more reasonable amount. He marched towards them, his steel sword still in his hand, although he stopped short and used an Aard to dispel the fire. Once again he moved forward, and as the men stopped their dancing, he was on them hacking through each one, like a knife carving through butter, their blood spurting onto his black leather armor, turning it into a canvas, straight out of hell.

Then he stopped. And looked around. Not a single person was left in the camp, and it was silent. Not even a bird could be heard. The Witcher then attuned himself to his surroundings, looking for something that he could sell off in Oxenfurt.

He found an ornate dagger on the corpse of one man, a chestplate and gauntlets in the quartermaster's chamber, obviously not the captain's, which were inlaid with rubies and embossed in gold, the man in the quartermaster's chamber had a grand total of 20 Crowns on him, and the others had anywhere between 5-12 crowns on their person as well. Overall, 125 crowns, the armor set was worth at least 1000 crowns, and the dagger another 200 crowns. Needless to say, the Witcher was in a good mood. A mood that was quickly soured as he left the camp on Gale, and saw the corpses. Just another event to add to the stigma against Witchers. Sighing, he moved on to the next town.

Perhaps hearts didn't harden with age after all, for he knew that there was once a time when he would've not looked back, and felt no remorse. But as of late his actions had begun to weigh upon him, and he questioned every decision he made. Perhaps hearts didn't harden with age, but instead grew weak, much like a sword.


	3. Chapter 3

The gates of Oxenfurt towered over the Witcher, as Gale moved forwards at a slow pace. Blasted speed limits. It was forbidden to gallop a horse through a city and within 50 yards of it , a rule put forth by the Councilmen, after multiple citizens complained about being stepped on by hasty horsemen.

As the Witcher walked Gale through the cobble streets on his way to the marketplace he kept a watchful eye out for any beggars that might decide to turn pickpocket. The armor set he had found klinked as he moved forwards, and drew the gaze of every beggar in his vicinity. Finally he arrived at his destination.

He dismounted and pulled the chestplate from his saddlebags, as well as the gauntlets. As he approached the armorer he usually sold to, whenever he "found" an armor set, a voice pierced through the air.

"You there! Witcher! I would like to talk!"

The accent sounded very foreign, so it was probably an aristocrat. Turning around, he gave the man a cold look. Short blond haircut in the latest fashion, a purple doublet and skinny denim pants. Definitely an important man. The aristocrat either didn't notice or completely ignored it. Instead, he marched forwards, and reached for the armor set. The Witcher raised an eyebrow and stepped back. The aristocrat was not deterred, and walked forwards once more reaching for the set. The Witcher took another step back.

The aristocrat stopped, and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking frustrated.

"I believe we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Pierre de les Trois-Rivieres. Recently I bought a property, and it's been looking empty. I would like an armor set to decorate it, and the one you're holding looks perfect. May I see it?"

The Witcher shrugged. Looking at the man, he could easily outrun him, if he decided to make a break for it. He handed over the set.

"Exquisite craftsmanship, a beautiful gold embossing, and those rubies shine like the eyes of a lion! C'est une pièce excellent, dans mon avis! I will take it! How much?"

The Witcher smirked. Time to fleece a sheep.

"2500 crowns."

The aristocrat's mouth fell open.

"Mais non! That's simply too much! I will do 1500 crowns, no more."

The Witcher grinned.

"You have yourself a deal. Money first."

The aristocrat reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch, handing over to the Witcher.

"I believe this should cover it."

The Witcher opened the pouch, and checked the authenticity. All the coins were real. Then he tossed the pouch up and down. Yup, around 1500, give or take 15 crowns. Looking up, the aristocrat seemed offended that the Witcher would doubt his honor. He couldn't care less.

"Well, before you go I've also got an ornate dagger in my saddlebags, that you might find interesting."

The aristocrat quirked an eyebrow.

"Of course! Let us see what you speak of."

The Witcher pulled out the dagger, it's inlaid peridot, and silver embossing, shining in the sun.

"Why, c'est merveilleux! You are a godsend my dear sir! How did you appear to me?"

The Witcher smiled, a toothy smile.

"1200 crowns."

The aristocrat startled at the quick reaction, then pulled himself together.

"No more than 850."

"Deal"

Once again the exchange took place, both feeling richer, but the Witcher was happier.

"Oh and before you go, in the future if you come across anymore finds, be sure to visit my place of residence. Henri here, should give you the address. Tata!"

The aristocrat's bodyguard, who the Witcher had just noticed, handed him a strip of paper, which he promptly pocketed. And with those words, the aristocrat was off. The Witcher felt like he had been blessed. Although he didn't believe in any deities, what had just transpired had to be an act of god. Of course, now that he had 2705 crowns, he could buy Sarah for the winter. Now all that was left was feeding himself and keeping his armor in top shape, and 705 crowns was more than enough for that. Although with his luck, he would most likely run into the one person who made him spend money as fast as he earned it.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's my favourite Witcher!"

Samuel Findlay. To the Witcher, he was the perfect example of what was wrong with humanity. Once a brilliant, young genius, with a mind that many would kill for, circumstances had changed him for the worse. He had been an inventor, and all it had taken was one bad idea, to start the debt train.

Tthe Any-weapon was a tool that was a compressed spear, crossbow, and knife in one, a tool that was cheap to make, and cheap to sell, however it had multiple problems. The buttons had been much too sensitive for regular combat, and occasionally a wrong button would be pressed. It had taken the deaths of five men, before the University of Novrad pulled the Any-Weapon from the market. Two had been shot in the head by the crossbow while using the spear, one impaled by an accidental spear release while using the knife, and the last two had accidentally slit their throat with a knife while using the crossbow.

All it had taken was this one invention and he was constantly in debt. It was a vicious cycle, really. He would come up with an idea, and spend anywhere from 6 months to 2 years developing it, and hundreds of crowns, while not making any money. Once he put them on the market, they wouldn't sell, due to his reputation, and he would be left with a huge deficit, and was forced to take out loans to pay for it. To get out of the debt, he would come up with another idea, and another one, and another one, and eventually he would be hundreds of crowns in debt.

It was no surprise when he began to associate with the underground of Novigrad, and he began to take money from the seediest loan sharks. He had accumulated other flaws due to the loan sharks he associated with, flaws like compulsive lying, and disorganisation.

However strange as it was, the Witcher had once owed his life to this man. Why? Well it had happened 30 years ago in Novigrad, while Samuel Findlay was still a respectable man, and the Witcher was just getting a handle on survival.


	4. Chapter 4

The Witcher frowned as the ealdorman of the village refused to pay him.

"We agreed on a price. Now you need to pay me. What is not clear about this, to you?"

The ealdorman gulped.

"I'm sorry Master Witcher, we cannot afford it. Our supplies have been dwindling lately, and the amount we agreed to pay you for the contract is no longer in our treasury."

The Witcher almost lost his temper, and beheaded the ealdorman.

"Well, that's your fucking problem, not mine. I'm going to collect my money, and you can have your head when you give it to me, or not have your head when I take it from you."

A strange look passed over the ealdorman's face, and he sighed, as he turned his back towards the Witcher.

"Fine, Master Witcher, follow me. It will cut into my personal funds, but I can afford to pay you."

The ealdorman snapped his fingers as he began to walk, and the Witcher frowned. That was strange. He noticed 40 men, give or take, coming out of their houses with picks, and hoes. Suddenly a grim realization dawned on the Witcher. He wasn't going to get paid, in fact he was going to get killed if he wasn't careful.

The Witcher quickly reached into his pouch, spun around and threw a Samum at the men following him, before casting a quick Yrden, where the ealdorman stood. Sprinting away from the scene, he could hear the cries of the men, as they stumbled around, trying to make sense of their surroundings.

He ran towards Gale, only to notice two men rifling through her saddlebags. Yelling out, he ran forwards, while drawing steel, and plunged the blade into the back of one man. While he pulled it out the other spun around and shanked him, right in his stomach. As he recoiled, he lashed out with the sword, and cut the other man in half. Crying out in pain, he looked through his pouch for the Swallow potions he kept, only to feel dread, when he realised both had been used, in the pursuit of the fiend. This was a bad situation to be in. Another Swallow potion would take a few hours to brew, a few hours he did not have.

Hearing cries over his shoulder, he realised that the time he had bought was up. He sliced through the rope, that tied Gale to the pole, and hopped on her, only to be have a hand latch onto his arm. Turning around he sliced right through it, noting the shocked face of the ealdorman as he lost a limb, and then galloped off.

He rode for what felt like days, before stopping underneath a tree. Groaning, he fell off Gale, and hit the ground. Thinking fast, he ripped off a sleeve, and stuffed it into the wound, knowing that his mutations would keep him safe from disease, although it would only delay the inevitable. Then, he blacked out.

* * *

He came to, in the back of a cart. Feeling around for his wound, he felt stitches. Freezing for a second, he thought about what had happened. He had been stabbed in the gut, barely escaped the village, and his wound had been sown up. Propping himself up on his elbow, he observed his surroundings. A man sat in front of him, holding the reins. His pouch and saddlebags, were next to him, and Gale was being lead by the cart. He grabbed his saddlebags, and noted that not a Crown was missing, before turning to observe his saviour.

He was clean-shaven, with neatly combed blond hair. He wore a pure white shirt, and a black beret. A nobleman, if the Witcher had ever seen one. Clearing his throat, the Witcher got his attention, and he turned around. He had piercing blue eyes.

"I see you're awake, friend!"

The Witcher nodded.

"You were in a pretty bad state, bleeding out all over the place."

The Witcher nodded again.

"Thanks for patching me up."

The man looked at the Witcher, and smiled. It was a crafty smile.

"It was no problem. My name's Samuel, Samuel Findlay."

The Witcher frowned.

"Didn't you invent the Findlay Jar?"

The man smiled.

"So you have heard of me."

The Findlay Jar was the latest alchemical development. It was a preservation jar, that kept all ingredients as fresh as they were when they were found. All self-respecting alchemists made sure to keep at least 3 Findlays on their person at all time, should they need to harvest an ingredient, and the Witcher was no exception. The man behind the Jars, was Samuel Findlay, a brilliant inventor, who had gotten a scholarship to the University of Oxenfurt. He was a genius, dabbling in alchemy, medicine, and physics. And he was also staring at the Witcher.

The Witcher, slightly perturbed by his gaze, began to let his mind wander. Why had Samuel saved him? The Witcher was no fool. He knew that there was no such thing as a free meal, or in this case, a free life. But what could a man that had everything want? Samuel cleared his throat, and the Witcher snapped to attention.

"Well, Witcher, I have a proposition for you. As I'm sure you've figured out by now, there is no such thing as a free meal, and I need to start collecting on the life debt you owe me."

Life debts signified that you owed your life to another man, and in this case, the Witcher owed his life to Samuel. They were only fully repaid once the one who owed his life, saved the life of the one who collected the debt. Until then, you were forced to do anything the collector wanted you to do. The Witcher raised an eyebrow.

"What is this 'proposition'?"

Samuel sighed, before turning back to face the road.

"I am in need of a bodyguard. While creating the Findlay Jar, I was financed by a man named Steinar. However, he's a true Skelligan, trying to plunder all of my money, and ruin my reputation . He began trying to sabotage my work on the Findlay Jar, so that I would be forced into a debt for the rest of my life. But, I managed to finish the project, get it onto the market, and I made a hefty profit. As you can probably guess, he wasn't too happy about that. So now, he claims that I still owe him money, and he's been sending men around to collect. I need you to stop those men for me, because the City Guard claims that they're "over-expended", and every other bounty-hunter I've tried to hire backs out because of bad wages. I can't afford to pay them much, because I used majority of the funds from the Findlay Jar, to finance my next project, the Findlay Flask"

The Witcher snorted.

"I guess I have no choice?"

Samuel laughed.

"Well, of course! But, finish this job for me, and we'll call the debt even. Deal?"

The Witcher sighed. It was no wonder the man was called a genius. He was essentially blackmailing him into being his bodyguard.

"Deal."


	5. Chapter 5

And so the Witcher's tenure as Samuel's bodyguard began. Few approached his place of residence, with a Witcher polishing a blade in a corner. Steinar's men were cowed before they even reached the front door. In the three weeks it took for Steinar to show his face, Samuel finished the Findlay Flask, and moved on to creating the Findlay burner. And so, the inevitable tete-a-tete with Steinar came.

"So, I see that you've stopped slayin' monsters, and started sittin' on yer arse, eh Witcher? Winter is still a 6 months away! Ennit a little too early te be doin' that?"

The Witcher paused and allotted himself 30 seconds to read the situation. He didn't want to draw steel, and risk getting punished by the Town Guard. He also didn't want to unnecessarily dirty his blade. So he read Steinar's face . Steinar may have been a typical Skelligan: Big and buff. But like all men, he was scared of things. And judging by the look on his face, he was scared of Witchers. The Witcher smirked.

The smirk was a crucial part of the plan for two reasons. One, it made him seem like he was in control of the situation. Two, a Witcher's smirk is extremely intimidating. Almost as if a lion was staring you right in the eyes, and then smiled: You were going to get eaten.

The Witcher decided to act on the fear aspect of the situation. If he played his cards right, he could scare Steinar away with naught more than words.

"I'm on a job."

It was better to give a vague response. The Witcher wanted to see if Steinar was here to ask questions, or if Steinar knew that he was a bodyguard for Samuel.

"Oh yeah? Well, I don't know if you know this Witcher, but, the man in that shop owes me money."

The Witcher's smirk turned into a grin, teeth and all. This was an even more fearsome expression, since teeth always meant that something was going to get hairy.

He then observed Steinar's face closely. He had recently shaved, and it was easy to tell, because of the cut that ran lengthwise across his cheek. He had brown hair, green eyes and broken nose. He could easily scare Steinar away, with all the verbal acumen he had acquired over the years of negotiating with ealdormen.

"Well, I don't know if you know this, but the contract was for a Skelligan. He was supposed to be a big guy, with a brown beard, green eyes and a broken nose. You would look like his spitting image, except for the fact that you don't have a beard. You wouldn't have happened to see a Skelligan like that around right?"

Steinar's pupils dilated, making his fear obvious. He also began to emit a stench: Sweat. Bingo.

"N-nay, I've not seen any of me fellow Skelligans 'round these parts, but I'll make sure that I keep an eye out."

With that, he turned around and made to leave. But he wasn't scared enough yet. The Witcher needed to ensure he wouldn't come back.

"Hey, wait!" The Witcher called to him, still seated. Steinar froze up, and turned around slowly.

"Let me know when you see him, alright? I've got to take a head to show to the poster!"

Steinar nodded, and all but ran from the scene. The Witcher knew that he wouldn't be a problem anymore. Suddenly, Samuel Findlay emerged from the shop, and began to clap. The Witcher looked around, scanning the area for the large Skelligan, before turning around to give Samuel an impassive look.

"What do you want?"

Samuel grinned.

"Well, Witcher, consider your debt paid. I know for a fact that Steinar won't be back, so after a few more days, in case he does show his face again, you can leave."

The Witcher nodded.

"That all?"

Samuel smiled wider. Once again, it was an extremely innocent smile. But there was something hidden underneath it. It was somehow sly and innocent at the same time.

"Other than that, I have nothing else to tell you. But, if you want to stick around, I'm sure I have a story or two that'll interest you. Maybe we can chat over some drinks? A Witcher is a very valuable friend to have."

At this, the Witcher raised an eyebrow.

"Three weeks ago, you were forcing me to be your bodyguard. And now, you want to be my 'friend'?"

Samuel nodded.

"Yup, exactly. Now, I know that you probably don't want to, but, I am Samuel Findlay, a world-famous inventor. Surely, I could do something for you."

The Witcher considered it. He didn't really want Samuel for a friend. There had been a story passed around in the keep, that one never made friends with a viper, the snake not the Witcher, although for enmity's sake the Witcher kind was often alluded to as well. The reason being that one day they would turn around and harm you. So, the Witcher tried to scare Samuel off.

"Alright, fine. In exchange for my friendship, I want a limitless supply of Findlay goods, as well as you covering all my costs when I buy ingredients for alchemy. By the way, I'll be using your house as lodgings for the next month, while I take on a contract or two, and I might need a Findlay Flask or two in the next couple days for brewing. That's my offer. Take it or leave it."

Samuel thought deeply, before stating the obvious.

"For friendship, that's a rather hefty price."

The Witcher nodded subconsciously. He didn't want to be friends with Samuel Findlay, for two reasons. Reason number one was that, not even a month ago, he had forced the Witcher off the path and made him his bodyguard. Reason number two was because he was a slippery kind of man, the same kind of man that the Witcher hated, and the same kind of man he had been warned about in the keep.

"Consider it done. All said and done it's not too much to ask, but, one condition: We go out for drinks right now to celebrate our new friendship!"

The Witcher was left gaping as Samuel walked into the distance, headed in the direction of the Alchemy Inn. Later on that night, the Witcher and Samuel would fuck two whores side by side. True brotherhood.

* * *

The Witcher was broken out of his vision from the past, by Samuel roughly elbowing him in the side.

"Hey, what do you say we head out for drinks at the inn? I do think it's that time of day for us!"

The Witcher shook himself out of his reverie. He needed to stop zoning out. One day, that would get him killed. However, his reminiscing this time had made him recall the terms of their friendship. He had never collected on the Findlay Flaks that he had asked Samuel to make. Somehow, the man was suave enough to make him forget about them every time he met him.

The Witcher was not about to spend his lucky break on another drinking trip with Samuel.

"Sorry. I'm not really in the mood right now."

Samuel groaned.

"Come on man! It's been more than three months since we last saw each other! Just one drink, and then you can go your own way."

The Witcher sighed. This was not how he wanted to spend his time in Oxenfurt, However, Samuel didn't have enough money to buy his own drinks, so he had probably been stone-cold sober for the past three months. The Witcher began to feel pity for his friend. But pity didn't equate to buying Samuel a drink in his mind.

"Well, I'm sorry about that, but I'm not about to go on another set of drunken escapades with you."

Samuel looked towards the ground.

"You know what? You're my friend. It's wrong of me to constantly force you to go drinking with me every time you show up in Oxenfurt. I guess, I'll just go home."

With that he turned away and began to walk towards the slums. The Witcher stood in shock for some time before groaning.

"Samuel, wait!"

Samuel turned around, sadness in his eyes.

"What?"

The Witcher sighed.

"Let's go drinking."

Samuel was next to him in a flash.

"So, I was thinking instead of visiting the Alchemy Inn first, we visit the Golden Hind. Then we go…."

The Witcher had fallen right into his trap, and he shook his head remorsefully. But a promise was a promise, and so, off they went.


End file.
